


The royal house of Blaiddyd

by Greenie (haithuong313)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, Incest, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Politics, Shotacon, who knows shota could be political
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23000758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haithuong313/pseuds/Greenie
Summary: “What is this child’s name again?”“I believe that it is the Margrave’s second-born, Sylvain Jose Gautier. He is also the bearer of the Minor crest of Gautier.” One of the knights quickly gives the king an insight.The King nods. That seems like all he needs to know. Wild blue eyes once again gaze upon the captive prey that is Sylvain.“You will come to serve me in the capital city of Fhirdiad, Sylvain.”
Relationships: Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Sylvain Jose Gautier's Father, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Miklan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	The royal house of Blaiddyd

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is warned in the tag. Please pardon my crappy english （；´д｀）ゞ Special thank to [@ktenologious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktenologious/pseuds/ktenologious) for many ideas, and also beta for this fic  
> I'm @Greenie313 on twitter, we have a Sylvain bully server if you are interested.

"Take off your clothes, _Syl_."

It was not a request at all, but an order - even though he may not even be aware of it. With a man like Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, born and raised to be King, his words are always orders - how on Earth do you even fight against the will of the crowned king of Faerghus himself? After a while, Sylvain got used to it. His father's teachings at his origin house of Gautier tells him to always look up and never lower your head before anyone, even when on the verge of dying because it is a weakness, but when the king himself arrived at their doorstep and demanded an explanation for the guilt of his father, Sylvain now learned to obey. It is not like he has ever had a will of his own, it has always been either listen to father or get beaten bloody on the floor; so now it is just a change of hand, this time the king takes the leash to his collar.

Sylvain takes off his clothes with trembling fingers, the order from the king sends a shiver down his spine as if his body is conditioned to feel even when untouched. Sylvain thinks that maybe his thirteen-year-old body is just too young for this kind of stuff, or maybe he was born a whore (as Miklan said - his brother may be bitter at times, but he was right about many things too). When king Lambert took his hand and declared that he would become the representative (another name for political hostage) for house Gautier in the capital instead of Margrave Gautier himself, Father told him:

"This could be the end of house Gautier, or it could be not, but we Gautier _always_ prepare for the worst. If you want to live, you must know how to serve and do it well."

… then father proceeded to teach him the matter of flesh. His teachings, whichever the subject, have always hurt, so Sylvain didn't expect anything but pain. What he didn't expect was the mixed pleasure, the fear and the trembling that didn’t quite stop for a while, then there was humiliation and hollow inside his stomach. 

With the king, it is not very different. It is still the same kind of pleasurable pain, but this time the pleasurable part is a bit bigger. It could be that while the king wants to enjoy this, Father only wants to punish him (Sylvain got punished for a lot of things, and has learned that it is better not to ask _why_ ). It still feels very scary and terribly violating, but Sylvain cannot stop himself from wanting to escape the onslaught of feelings when the King's incredible manhood slams into the spot of sensitive nerves so deep that he didn't know exist. His struggles are all futile as the king's grip is as strong as steel, he may not even _feel_ the struggle Sylvain puts up. The king continues to suck and bite Sylvain as if he is a delicious game, on his neck and his over-sensitive nipples. Seiros knows he tries to not make sounds, tries to be good like his father taught him because no one likes a crying little brat. Sylvain _screams,_ his face soaked with tears, sweat and body fluids. The king seems to like what he sees, he whispers sweet words into his ears.

"That's right, you are doing it right. Scream for me, Syl."

It is kind of nice that there are some big soft plushies just in hand's reach, Sylvain can hug them while he endures the whole session. Outside of the bed, the king spoils him rotten, especially after Sylvain had done his "queen's duty". He is the king, he can take what he wants and nobody could stand against him, but he insists that Sylvain has some comfort. 

"As I said before, there would be presents for you, right? Look at them…"

Sylvain has yet to recover from the climax, is still trying to gasp for air and stop the convulsions, now wide-eyed at the present. His little brain cannot process for a while.

"Now, let's receive your gift."

The king picks Sylvain up and lets the soft body lean against his firm chest. He gives Sylvain the gentlest kiss, licking tears from his face as if it was the most luscious liquor. From the door, his close friend Rodrigue and another knight Sylvain seems to know but can't recall at the moment, approach the bed. Rodrigue with a bit of concern yet his eyes are filled with lust, tracing Sylvain's sweat laced body like the most exquisite piece of painting. He sits between Sylvain's open legs.

"Please give me the honor, your Highness."

Sylvain never had enough preparation in the world to deal with the cock that slides into him afterward. His eyes roll back and his body gives in. He doesn't remember much after that but cocks and cocks taking turns in his body.

･････

[2 years ago, in Gautier manor]

It would be much simpler if he could hate his father. In fact, Miklan, his dear brother does. This father, the cruel-hearted man, the kind of parent that doesn’t kiss their children before bed, the kind of parent who would insist that duty is more important than their loved one bedridden, who would beat their child broken and bloody if they put even half of their foot out of line. They say the people of Gautier don't afraid of winter cold because inside the manor is much colder than the outside. Wherever the Margrave Gautier goes, sounds are all muted and all defiance is subdued.

Miklan rebelled the first chance he got; father has since pretended that he had only ever had one son. For Sylvain, it only shows how painfully effective his father's teaching methods are, with only one _minor_ setback that they would not become wholly human with emotions intact. Maybe he thinks that it is still better than whatever awaits them in endless battles they would be thrown into.

“I… I don’t _understand._ ”

Sylvain suddenly speaks in the middle of their study. He sits in the huge wooden table that is in the middle of the dim-lit library, normally it is used for reading but sometimes is used to host the war council. The margrave gives him a weird look but doesn’t stop him from asking. When they are studying, Sylvain is allowed to ask questions as long as they are appropriate; it doesn't mean he would be given an answer but most likely to be pointed to a book or reading material. Unlike popular belief, the Margrave does allow his children to have their own _thoughts_ because in the end, thoughts _do not_ matter. What they _do_ , on the other hand must be strictly in line, there is no place for mistakes and personal issues.

"You always say that our duty for the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is to guard the border, but isn’t it too... cost-ineffective? I know that we could never escape war and conflicts, but it has been _two hundred years_. And… not all Sreng people want this war?”

\- _like us_ , but he didn’t say that. House Gautier and a small population of Faerghus have been descendants of ancient Sreng, but that was something people refuse to see.

“There should be other ways.” he says reluctantly.

His father looks at him, his expression is still stern as ever, but it doesn’t seem to be an inappropriate question; it was an expected question, as Sylvain’s observation. He then puts on the table the “Faerghus Relations with Neighbouring Countries” and “The Foundation of Holy Kingdom and Relics”, which Sylvain already read several times and even memorized part of them. The answer is? The conflict is not to keep the Sreng in their place, but rather to keep _the Gautier_ in their place. The Gautier excels in many things but they are not firm believers of bloodshed. Even so, their house could do nothing without orders from the king himself, and the court has never made any efforts normalizing the relationship with Sreng. The reason why the Gautier has been left alone to handle the western border is unknown and probably doesn’t exist in the textbook anymore, if ever.

“If you can figure out the answer, you may also understand why your training is needed.” his father answers, fingers rapping on the oaken table “But for whatever reason that is, our duty for Faerghus never changed. _We_ are the backbone of this country, Faerghus shall not fall as long as we stand.”

He looks straight in Sylvain’s eyes, which made him flinches and nods instinctively. There would always be some lessons set straight into his mind that he must never forget.

“If you need a hint though, _the Blaiddyd are gullible_.” his father says, almost like sarcasm.

Sylvain doesn’t know in what way he should understand that. He has never met the king, but he has never heard bad things about him. There were sometimes he heard his father talking to lord Fraldarius, but those were nothing but praises and how fortunate they are that the Blaiddyd line still keeps things straight in the country. While Sylvain is pondering the thought in his mind, a servant comes whispering something to the Margrave. For a split second, his face crumpled but then the mask slipped on as if nothing was wrong, he then tells Sylvain to continue with the study while he attends to the matter. Continue with the study… normally Sylvain has very clear instructions on what to do, his father doesn’t want any second wasted. That makes Sylvain rather curious.

He left the study after half an hour or so, his father had not come back. He sweetly asked a guard to tell him where his father might be and got pointed to the west of the manor. Father would not mind if he listens for a bit, he is no stranger to these in-house politics talks. Today, however, is not his lucky day, as he notices Miklan striding toward him with a deep-seated animosity (which is a bit different from his normal irritated look). He swiftly takes the opposite direction and starts to run, but then curses at the burning sensation on his back. Two days ago, he earned a thrashing, all because Miklan roped him into a midnight horse racing. Sylvain was too young to be on horseback unsupervised, but there is something about it that made him feel… alive. Their plan is to make it back before sunrise, but before they know it they have run too far. Probably because Sylvain, deep inside, really wants to _run run run_ away, and Miklan just doesn’t want to lose to him even when they are not at each other’s throat in a fight. They have to return eventually, and both him and Miklan got the well-deserved punishment. He has been hiding from Miklan the whole day before, but it is just a matter of time before Miklan spots him and gives him a world of pain. That has always been like that between the two of them.

“ _Freaking brat_ , think that you are faster than me?”

 _I am faster than you_ \- the thought crosses his mind before Miklan shoves him into a corner with the force of a rolling boulder, after that it is just blinding pain that leaves him breathless. It feels like he is pinned by the back on a thousand knives. Sylvain doesn’t think that Miklan realized how brutal he is, no one in this house points it out to him anyway. And the smallest one in the house got rolled on by the boulder. Sylvain doesn’t understand why hasn’t he grew into a boulder too; he is ten now, but still looks flimsy like a leaf. He feels like floating...

“-ake up! Brat! _Sylvain!_ ”

“Hmm?”

Sylvain blinks sheepishly. Miklan’s furious expression now turned into something akin to worry. _That_ , he doesn’t see often.

“What the fuck, you suddenly blacked out on me. Are you playing with me?!” _Here we go, back to ferocity again…_ Sylvain contemplates.

“Mmm-no… Back. _Hurt_.” He manages to mutter.

Miklan, again, brutally pins him face-first into the wall to examine his back. Every noble he ever met should have a courtesy class including three lessons of “How to ask - it is very simple!”. Sometimes Sylvain does not bother to remove their intruding hands on his body anymore.

With Miklan, it is kind of _different_ , though.

Sylvain shivers when he feels a rough but warm fingers brushes on his naked back. While he mildly envious of guys who have a strong body built, he is also subtly fascinated by them. People like Miklan, to be precise. Miklan inherits both their father and mother’s strong features, while Sylvain is just… small. As if he doesn’t already feel like a stray. Sylvain lets out a sigh.

“I didn’t know Father gave you quite a thrashing too.” Miklan seems confused. What makes him confused, Sylvain doesn’t understand. Maybe he thought that the crest makes you immune to beating or something? Or it is just the fact that Father likes to _educate_ Sylvain when they are alone.

“You should tell a servant to get a look at it… seems pretty bad.”

Sylvain doesn’t need to be told that, he knows it hurts worse than usual.

“Everyone is afraid of Father so they just leave me be.” Sylvain explains “It is alright, I do have some herb palm to use. Now that you know I get my fair share of beating, should we call it a truce?”

Sylvain gives Miklan his most sorry look. It doesn’t work this time. That needs more work, then.

“That is your tribute to father. I come to take _mine_.” he grunts.

Miklan pins him into the stone war with that bulky body of him, his breath hot on Sylvain’s neck. It makes him dizzy; he almost didn’t feel it when Miklan pulls his hand close to his crotch. His other hand is free to roam beneath Sylvain’s thick winter clothes; he doesn’t even need to grip Sylvain’s hand because his body alone is just _that_ strong. It is hard to breathe sometimes, but it is super warm too, something Sylvain can fall asleep to. His toes don’t touch the ground. Sylvain instinctively wants to pull away, wants those torturous hands to stay _off_ out _away_ far from him, he wants to cry and wants to beg for forgiveness. The other part, the dark and dirty part of him, just wants his brother to stay _in_.

Miklan grinds on his hand. It feels wet and mucky. He can feel tears budding in his eyes. Brother _smirks_.

“Lemme go...” Sylvain protests weakly, this never works, but still...

“Say the word then.” Miklan only grinds harder.

“...” Sylvain’s mind is blank for a bit, but he does remember what it is. It is not like he never said it around Miklan, but why he wants him to say it every time they do this, Sylvain has no idea.

“ _Please…._ ”

“Please?”

“Please, _aniue (*)_...”

Miklan comes at that. He breathes heavily for a while, the satisfied kind of breathing, and he let go of Sylvain. Brother then gives him a kiss on his lips, strangely gentle. Sylvain supposed he should like that, but it is usually after something he doesn’t like, so he can’t say he really likes it or not. Sylvain stands there staring at his wet hand quite sometimes after Miklan leaves. Then he remembered he was checking out on Father...

When he arrived at the western corridor, they seemed to have finished talking and were walking out of the room. To Sylvain’s horror, his father is escorted out with some knights that bear the Royal coats of arms on their armor, his hands are in shackles.

“Stop, where are you taking my father?!” Sylvain dashes toward the knight, he can hear his heart beating in his throat.

“I told you to **stay** in the study!”

The Margrave grunts, his eyes blazed up with rage. That is usually when Sylvain would bend over for a whooping, but now he was too panicked to even get scared by that. His brain fired up like when he was eight and Miklan tried to throw him into a well, he scans the place to see how many people are there, what is available to him. Most of them are not in their alert stance, Sylvain is but a harmless tiny ten years old. Little did they know that if given a lance, he could even rival Miklan. Sylvain grabs the chain between his father’s hands and cast the fire spell he has been practicing last month. It burns his hand as well, but at least the chain melts in an instant. Before anyone even registered what is happening, Sylvain kicks the place behind a knight’s legs; which makes him drop his lance right into Sylvain’s open arm.

“Run, father!”

He shouts, his lance swings high and pierces into another knight’s thigh. He would not expect to beat them but he could create enough distraction, which is always his to-go tactic; he could not take down anyone so he would swing the lance frantically before running for his life. This time, his premature plan failed with a snap. Sylvain didn’t even notice when a huge man steps out from the shadow to stand in front of him, his armored hand reaches out and takes Sylvain's lance as if it was a toy.

_Crack_

The lance splinters and falls like bread crumbs. Sylvain doesn’t need knights around him to tell who this man is. Is he even a man or that was a man-shaped demonic beast with shining blue eyes and death in its claws? Sylvain drops whatever is left in his arms, completely hopeless.

The King takes his arm, the not-burned one, and pulls him in. He inspects Sylvain a bit, then he looks at the Margrave.

“My deepest apology, your Majesty. This foolish child is out of his mind.”

The Margrave is on his knees. The expression on his face is more of resignation than shock like he had lost the last of his troops in a decisive battle. Little did he know that it was not the worst thing coming.

“What is this child’s name again?”

“I believe that it is the Margrave’s second-born, Sylvain Jose Gautier. He is also the bearer of the Minor crest of Gautier.” One of the knights quickly gives the king an insight.

The King nods. That seems like all he needs to know. Wild blue eyes once again gaze upon the captive prey that is Sylvain.

“You will come to serve me in the capital city of Fhirdiad, _Sylvain_.”

  
  
  
*aniue : Brother


End file.
